Iron, Anvils, and the Odd Ones Out
by Scented-Marker-Sniffer
Summary: Stuck working in the forge was not an envied position in Berk, but as long as Gobber had Hiccup and Hiccup had Gobber and they got to annoy each other all day long, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. The life and times of a blacksmith and his apprentice, from bad singing to troll sightings and everything in between.
1. First Meeting

**Well, here goes one of my odder story ideas: one of my favorite, and one of the least mentioned, relationships in HTTYD was the friendship between Hiccup and Gobber. Those two misfits have such a humorous but also heartfelt dynamic that I figured there was a whole wealth of scenarios I could write about. So why not write about them all?**

**So basically this is a series of short one-shots, in no particular order, centered on Hiccup and Gobber. I guess I'll stop when I'm out of ideas? XD So here goes the first chapter, centered on none other than the day Hiccup starts working for Gobber. It seemed fitting. Also, I cannot write Gobber's accent and I apologize.**

**Anyway, reviews are appreciated but certainly not required. Thanks for visiting and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Gobber still remembered the first day he met Hiccup.

Sure, he had always known _of_ Hiccup, and had seen some passing glances of him—the boy was his best friend's son, after all—but he had never actually spoken to the child until the day he hobbled over to answer meet the figure waiting at his forge's door and was confronted with Stoick.

Gobber was a little surprised. It was rare that Stoick, the chief who was always busy, came to visit the blacksmith during the day. "Oh, 'ey, Stoick. What's goin' on?"

Never a man of many words, Stoick didn't respond, instead pushing on something behind his legs. A little boy emerged shyly from behind the chief, balling his fists and staring up at Gobber curiously, albeit warily.

"This is my son, Hiccup," Stoick provided, when Gobber didn't ask and Hiccup was too shy to introduce himself. "Hiccup, this is my good friend, Gobber. He runs the forge here, 'member?" He nudged Hiccup's back with his knee, and the boy quickly chorused, voice so soft Gobber had to lean a little closer just to hear it, "Hello, Mr. Gobber."

"… 'Ello," Gobber replied after a moment, a bit awkwardly, before looking back to Stoick, getting suspicious. "What's this, Stoick?" The chief wouldn't have brought his kid down here for _no reason._ There was definitely an ulterior motive here somewhere.

The man didn't respond for a moment, watching his son's wispy brown head. "… I'd like Hiccup to work at your forge, Gobber."

The blacksmith spluttered for a moment, clutching the empty door frame with his one good arm. "W-Work at the forge?! Stoick, 'ave you gone mad?! I can't take yer kid; look at 'im!" He gestured his prosthetic arm hammer at the diminutive child, who managed to look a bit peeved through his terror at the enormous hammer being swung three inches in front of his face, "He'd be _killed! _Nope, I ain't havin' him. Sorry."

Stoick rolled his eyes, like he had figured Gobber was going to be like this. He probably had. "I'm not saying I want him forging broadswords on his first day… You could take him on as an apprentice. Run small errands, do all the small tasks you don't want to be burdened with…" When Gobber still looked skeptical, Stoick provided, softer, "I want him to be somewhere where he'll be safe, Gobber. Since Val... well. Since she... left, I haven't been able to keep an eye on him." He shifted, and Gobber's expression softened ever so slightly in sympathy. "But you... But you _could._ And he won't be a burden, I promise. He's smart, you know… _and, _he has little hands if you have any of those intricate jobs you hate…"

Gobber had folded his meaty arms to listen to Stoick's proposal, considering, but as soon as he heard the bit about the possibility of those elaborate jobs becoming easier, he quickly interrupted, "W-Well… I guess I can take the kid, but you owe me one, Stoick!"

The chief let out a breathy sigh of relief. "Oh, Odin bless you, Gobber. Thank you."

Gobber held up his hand with a theatrical sigh. "Yeah, yeah, just don't make a habit of it. C'mon, kid, lemme show you around."

The little boy gave his father a worried glance, subconsciously digging his heels into the ground in preparation of being dragged (as he usually was when his father was involved), but Stoick gave him a little push towards the blacksmith, whispering, "I'll come get you at suppertime. Gobber won't hurt you; don't worry. Don't you want to be big and strong like your dad?"

The child bit his lip, nodded, and finally began to follow Gobber, who had waited patiently by the door. With one last, "See you soon, son," from Stoick, his father left, and the child was stuck inside a big, dark space with some hulking scary stranger. The heat burned Hiccup's eyes and he coughed into his arm, flinching away when the nearby pile of coals spit out a glowing ember.

Gobber looked at the boy for a moment. He didn't look like any Viking child the blacksmith had ever seen. Most were healthily plump, with barely-developed muscles and no fear of anything. This boy practically as big around as Gobber's little finger, with wispy gingery-brown hair and wide green eyes that peered into the dark spaces like there was a Gronkle lurking in each one of them. Small, and afraid. No matter. Gobber would have the boy at ease soon.

"What'd you say your name was, kid?" Gobber asked when the child said nothing.

"… Hiccup," the kid responded, looking at the ground, fists balling up tighter. Gobber chuckled in amusement; what a fitting name.

"Well, Hic, welcome to the forge. It ain't much, but I think ye'll like it. Looks like we're gonna be in for the long haul, so you'd better learn not to be so 'fraid of me. My name's Gobber, 'case you forgot."

Hiccup smiled up at his new instructor shyly, balled fists relaxing ever so slightly. "… So what do we do first?"

"Eager, aren't we? Nah, first we have to talk abut how everything works…"

As Gobber showed Hiccup around his forge and the boy just barely began to crawl out of his shell and ask questions, Gobber decided maybe this wouldn't be so bad. The boy was quiet and respectful; he didn't seem the mouthy type at all. And after all, with a missing leg and fingers like sausages, how could Gobber _not_ be grateful for an apprentice who would run to get things or tinker around with those stupid projects with all the little parts?

No, this seemed it would run just fine. After all, Stoick couldn't keep the kid here too long, right? He'd have to start fighting dragons eventually. In the meantime, it might even be fun here.

Master Gobber and his apprentice Hiccup.

He liked it.


	2. Trolls and Cynicism Thereof

**Wow! I hadn't expected to get so many favorites/follows on just the first chapter! :D Thanks so much, everyone! I hope this second chapter, and all the future chapters, are up to your expectations. :)**

**So with that, I bring to you chapter two: Gobber entertaining a young and gullible Hiccup by telling him all about trolls—and Hiccup believes his every word, of course. XD**

**Reviews are appreciated but not required; thanks for visiting and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Gobber," nine-year-old Hiccup shouted over the thunderstorm that was brewing in the warm springtime air, "Have you seen my sock? I can't find it anywhere…"

Earlier that day Gobber had dragged Hiccup out to a creek on the far edge of town, where the blacksmith had forgotten his hammer prosthetic at the building site of a bridge he had reconstructed. When Gobber had ventured out on the bridge to fetch it, he had stepped on a loose board, and unthinkingly grabbed at the nearest solid thing to avoid falling into the still-icy water—unfortunately for both parties involved, the nearest solid thing had been Hiccup, who at nine years old barely weighed more than the axes he sharpened. After crawling out of the frigid creek (and preventing Hiccup from simply floating downstream in the current), fetching the hammer, and listening to a wet, cold, and angry nine-year-old scold him all the way back to the forge, Gobber took off his shoes and socks and instructed Hiccup to do the same. It was better to keep their feet bare and warm them by the fire every now and then than wear wet boots all day; the last thing either of them wanted was a foot to get frostbite or an infection and have to be amputated—Gobber could attest to that much.

Now it was time to go home, and Hiccup was fetching his dried boots and socks from their spot near the fire. However, he could not find his left sock, which annoyed him greatly. He absolutely hated making new socks.

"Ye missin' yer sock?" Gobber asked, approaching the boy. A nod. "The left 'un only?" Another nod. "Well, I think I know where it went…"

"Where?" Hiccup asked hopefully, the previous worries of having to sew himself a new sock diminishing. Though why Gobber had taken his sock was beyond him.

Gobber gestured for the boy to lean closer and he did, albeit a little cautiously, trying to hide his nose wrinkling at the blacksmith's rather pungent musk. "I'll let you in on a little secret," he whispered, and Hiccup, curious little boy that he was, nodded, open-mouthed. After waiting a few more moments to build up a little suspense, Gobber could contain himself no longer and hissed excitedly, "_It was a troll!"_

He waited eagerly for Hiccup's reaction, but the boy just rolled his eyes, leaning out of the huddle with an utterly unimpressed expression. "A troll? Gobber, trolls don't exist."

"Aw, yer dad tell ya that?" At the child's nod, Gobber _'pshh'_ed, waving his hand dismissively. "He doesn't know what he's talkin' about. Trolls exist, all right! There's a reason we have name like we do, ya know!"

"Gobber…" Hiccup almost chided, but Gobber continued passionately,

"Ever since I was a lad, me left socks have just… _disappeared!_ Gone in the night! There one day, gone the next! It's _spooky_, I tell ya! And now that I only 'ave one foot, it's gotten _worse!_ It's a hard life for your socks, ya know, when ye've only got yer left foot!" He pried his right prosthetic leg up and let it drop down on the nearby workbench with a loud _clang_, gesturing at it over-exaggeratingly like Hiccup might not have already noticed the hunk of metal attached to his instructor's foot.

Hiccup was rolling his eyes as he sat on the ground to pull on his incomplete set of socks and boots. "There's not even a difference between left and right socks…"

"Sure there is! Ye just 'aven't been lookin' hard enough!" Hiccup didn't look up from his task, so Gobber continued, ever louder, "And one time, _one time,_ me dad took me fishin', and I _saw_ one! I saw a troll in the bushes! Ugliest creature I ever seen! Preyin' on fishermen who lay their wet socks by the shore!"

Hiccup, still seated with his legs splayed to either side of him, now looked up at Gobber, beginning to appear unsure. "… What did it look like?"

Thrilled that _someone_ was finally listening to his troll stories, even if it _was_ his nine-year-old apprentice, Gobber nearly shouted, "Why, it was _tall!_ Taller than your dad!"

_"Really?" _

"Yeah! Why, taller than me sittin' on yer dad's shoulders! And it had green skin, like leather! And in its face was _one—yellow—eye!"_ Gobber peeled his right eye open with his fingers and leaned in close to Hiccup, who squirmed back in fright.

_"Sharp teeth!"_ The blacksmith bared his teeth ferociously. "And it had a terrifyin' howl that could lay waste to the bravest Vikin'… that went like _this!"_ Gobber proceeded to let out an ear-shattering wail of _"BLOOOGARYABLABAPLABLAHAR"_, that, combined with an inopportune strike of lightning, was soon joined by Hiccup's terrified shrieking as he scuttled away under the nearby workbench like a frightened mouse, praying to any god out there that Gobber's cry didn't attract any monsters in the vicinity.

Realizing that perhaps he had gone a bit far in his vivid descriptions without explaining the next characteristic of trolls, Gobber leaned under the bench to call to the huddled, trembling figure of Hiccup in the corner, "Hey, but no need to be afraid, now. Trolls ain't dangerous, ya know."

The child had buried his head under his furry vest like this extra defense might protect him from any nearby trolls, and now lifted it to stutter tremulously, "B-But… Y-You just said…"

"Hey, I never said they were _dangerous,_ now did I? I said they _looked_ scary. I mean, yer dad looks scary, but is he dangerous?"

"Yes."

Well, Gobber would give the kid that one. "'Kay, fine… But _I'm_ not dangerous, even though I look scary?"

"Well, no…"

"Exactly!" Gobber grinned and, finally feeling slightly reassured, Hiccup cautiously crawled out from his hiding space. "So like I said, trolls ain't dangerous; naw, we have dragons for that! Trolls just like to take yer socks."

"Well… how come?" Hiccup's hands were planted on his waist and he regarded Gobber with slightly wary curiosity.

"For funsies, I s'pose. I dunno. The point is," Gobber gestured grandly with his hand, "I know 'zactly where your left sock went, and the answer is, a troll took it."

Hiccup nodded slowly, and Gobber could practically see the boy's imagination running around on two legs inside the kid's head. He began to giggle. "Well, that makes sense, I guess. I'll just have to make a new sock… Or wear two right socks from now on…"

Gobber nodded in approval, patting (or beating, depending on which party one asked) Hiccup's shoulder. "Good boy, Hiccup. Now come on, yer dad's expectin' ya. Ye don't wanna be late, now."

After coaxing his apprentice out of the forge with continued promises that no, a troll wasn't going to come eat him or take any more of his socks, Hiccup joined Gobber and together they walked to the boy's house.

* * *

Stoick gave a subconscious nod of approval at the sound of the front door opening and closing, right as the sun set, as usual. He needed to thank Gobber more often for always managing to get Hiccup home on time; only Odin knew the kind of trouble that boy might get into after darkness fell.

He turned from the pot he was (attempting) to make supper in. "How was your day, Hic—?" He trailed off, frowning as he watched Hiccup kneel by the door to peel off his furry boots. "Where is your sock?" Bare feet were never a good thing in Berk, even when the warm months were beginning like this.

"Oh," Hiccup said casually, boots successfully removed, "It was a troll; they steal socks. But only the left ones… What's with that?" The boy shrugged, and with that, scaled the steps to his room with a "Call me if you need help with supper", as Stoick gaped after him in blank confusion. After a moment though, the realization hit him, and Stoick's face drew down into a scowl.

_"… Gobber…"_ he grumbled.


	3. A New Scar

**Hello again everyone! Thank you so much again for all the kind follows/subscribes/reviews (I'm doing my best to get back to all of you); they always put a smile on my face! :)**

**Here we be with chapter three—the story of how Hiccup got that little scar on his chin (if you don't know about it, you should look it up because it's a cool detail, at least in my mind :D). Takes place probably two or three years before the movie. **

**Welp, I'll stop yapping: reviews are appreciated but not required; thanks for visiting and please enjoy!**

* * *

It was a fast-paced, punishing day of work in the forge. A devastating dragon raid had just come to pass the night before, and weapons needed fixing, nails for the new houses (including half of Hiccup's) needed to be made, and prosthetic limbs needed to be crafted for any new amputees.

Gobber and Hiccup barely found time between their work to exchange words, only the occasional order from Gobber and mumbled sarcastic reply from Hiccup (usually followed by an even quieter retort from the older blacksmith). It wore on towards the evening and, with the absence of any breaks from sunup to sundown, the two gradually tired, movements becoming less precise.

"Hiccup, sharpen this and fix the grip," Gobber instructed, holding the broken sword in one hand and pounding a new spearhead with the other, and, too focused on constructing the new weapon to carefully hand the decrepit blade to his apprentice, he tossed it behind him in a simple underhand pass. It was a dance they had long ago perfected; even Hiccup, walking disaster that he was, nearly always caught the blade with his heavily gloved hands, otherwise letting it drop to the ground, feet performing an odd-looking dance to avoid the falling weapon (usually amidst Gobber's laughter).

Gobber expected to hear the soft _thump_ of the blade landing in the boy's hands, followed by, "Yeah, okay, I'm on it," and maybe a stumble of the boy's feet when the weight of the metal threw him back a few steps, and therefore refocused his attention on the precise hits of his hammer-prosthetic on the soft iron that still glowed a fiery red. Instead, a sharp "Ouch!" rang out, leading to Gobber spinning awkwardly, trying to get a good look at what had transpired behind him without abandoning his precious project.

Hiccup had dropped the blade but was clasping the left side of his jaw, and, immediately terrified at what could have happened, Gobber left his project and rushed (well, as much as he _could_ rush with a fake leg and a hammer that weighed more than his apprentice attached to his arm) over to the boy.

"Hiccup! What 'appened? Lemme see," Gobber commanded, albeit gently, prying the boy's hand away from his face.

Gobber didn't know how awkwardly the boy had to have caught the blade, but its sharp edge had caught him in the face, and Gobber blessed both his and Hiccup's lucky stars that it hadn't put out the boy's eye. A relatively small cut, about half the length of Gobber's little finger, had opened in the boy's skin, on the left side of his chin. It was not large but it was deep, and in short order ruby blood had begun to blossom out of it and slowly trickle down the boy's freckled jaw.

The large blacksmith breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he saw the fairly harmless nick. Even though Stoick always kept up a constant mantra that Hiccup needed to toughen up, Gobber wasn't too keen on what the chief might do if he found out his son was injured on Gobber's watch. He shuddered vaguely at the thought.

"It's fine, Gobber, I'm all right," the boy sighed, pushing Gobber's hand away from his jaw and wiping the trickling blood off on his sleeve. The blacksmith restrained a smile, remembering all the times Stoick had made just the same remark.

"Well, even so, we wanna get that bandaged up," Gobber insisted. "It might be tiny, but that don't mean it can't get infected. Then yer whole face'll rot out and ye'll look like an Outcast. Ye don't want that, do ya?"

_"Gobber,"_ Hiccup half-whined, rolling his eyes, but Gobber just rolled his eyes right back and fetched their covered bucket of clean water and some fabric bandages. He carefully cleaned and bandaged the cut, despite Hiccup's constant steam of "Gobber, Gobber, come on, you're slower than _molasses_ and we've got work to do, Gobber, _come on,"_ (to which the blacksmith replied, "Aw, shut it, will ya? Ye think I'm doin' this for my own health? Ye know how Stoick can get!"), and Gobber completed the task in an obnoxiously long time, by the end of which Hiccup was frowning at him with his arms crossed.

"There we are," Gobber said, sounding pleased with his, at least in his mind, medical prowess despite only having one hand, "Ye're bandaged up. Ye're probably gonna get a scar outta that one, though. Deep, it was."

Hiccup had been rubbing the too-loose bandage on his face and grumbling about needing to redo the job when he got back to his half-charred home, but looked up at the remark, weary eyes glinting in something like hope. "Really?"

Seeing the budding excitement in the boy's eyes at this remark, Gobber continued, more enthusiastically, "Oh, _yeah!_ The toughest scar Berk's ever seen! Ever'body'll wonder how ye got to be so… so…" His one arm flapped uselessly as he struggled to come up with the correct word. "… Vikin'-like!"

Hiccup's face contorted, stuck between a beam at the idea and a frown at the unintended backhanded comment, before finally choosing to let his lips mold into a crooked, long-suffering smile. "Uh, thanks Gobber, I guess."

"Hey, yer welcome. After all, it's only fun if ye get a scar outta it!" The hulking blacksmith shook his hand-hammer as if preparing for a war to prove this Viking sentiment.

"Yeah, I guess so…" Rolling his eyes at the Viking logic and ducking to avoid getting decked in the head by his instructor's intimidating hammer, Hiccup's eyes traveled to a point behind Gobber's large frame. "Oh… Uh, Gobber, your iron's gone cold."

Gobber looked behind him and irritably gritted his metal tooth.

"… Son of a _half-troll…"_


	4. Lessons in Overestimation

**Hello again! Thank you so much once more for all of your support; it definitely motivates me! :) Just as a heads-up for anyone following this story, in a couple of days I'm going overseas to Europe for two weeks, so I'm afraid there won't be any updates for a little while. Sorry about that! As soon as I'm back in my groove, I'll get back to updating. Thanks for understanding! :)**

**With that, here's chapter four—a little back story on Hiccup's tunic in the movie. As far as the sewing part of this chapter goes, I assume everyone in Berk ****has at least some notion of how to sew (it's a pretty important skill after all, especially in those times), which would explain Gobber's knowledge on the subject despite only having one hand. I hope that makes some kind of sense. XD**

**Now I need to shut up: reviews are very much appreciated but never required. Thanks a ton for visiting, and please enjoy!**

* * *

A pair of light footsteps traipsed into the forge about an hour after dawn, and Gobber didn't even have to look up from his work to sigh and shake his head—there was, after all, only one Viking he knew with light footsteps, and that Viking was tardy for work.

"Runnin' a bit late these days, aren't ye? Watch out, I may just fire ya. Try 'splainin' that one to yer dad." Gobber gave a hearty laugh at his own empty threats, still not glancing up from the catapult spring he was tinkering with. The force of the spring needed to be adjusted, and these were always such tricky jobs… If Hiccup had gotten to work on time, he probably would have dropped the intricate job on the kid's lap. Hiccup, with his tiny fingers and quick mind, loved tinkering with little parts; Gobber loathed it.

He kept one ear open for the boy's, "Yeah, and maybe at the same time I can tell him that you still believe in trolls, right?" (cheeky little bugger), but no reply sounded, only the sound of his apprentice's sloshing footfalls that meandered here and there with no particular hurry. He was probably still half-asleep. Hiccup had just turned thirteen and was quickly becoming mouthier, more inventive, and more willing to take any available chance to doze off. He wasn't growing though, Gobber thought with a contained chuckle, Of course not. Hiccup had worked for Gobber since he was six years old and to be honest, there had not been a drastic difference in his appearance since then. However, Gobber tried his best to keep his teasing about this to a minimum, meaning about five cracks a day and maybe three more subtle jabs.

When not even a tired, incomprehensible mumble replied to Gobber's inital prompt, the man spun to search for his apprentice. "What's up, Hiccup? Usually ye've mouthed off by n— …" He trailed off, eyes nearly bulging as he gaped at the younger blacksmith. Gobber was not easily shocked or moved to silence, but _this—_this was just not natural.

Hiccup stood next to the grindstone where there was always a job waiting for him in the morning, arms akimbo, face drawn up in what was supposed to be a fearsome scowl (it looked like a pout). "Don't you _dare_ laugh at me, Gobber. I swear to _Odin,_ if you laugh—!"

He was interrupted by a guffaw so thunderous he cringed away, before resuming his glare at his employer, who had abandoned his project to practically roll on the ground, pounding his working table and tears beginning to stream down his red face.

"Stop laughing!" Hiccup commanded, giving his foot a stomp, and the pitiful attempt at looking tough had Gobber losing it all over again, hooting so much that no sound managed to escape his mouth.

After a while of this, during which Hiccup began to look more and more furious, Gobber tried to get control of his breathing and wheezed, "W-What… What on Odin's snowy earth are you _wearing?"_

In most respects, Hiccup's clothing was positively normal. A light green, long-sleeved wool tunic, it was just like what any other Viking child wore day-to-day. But what had reduced Gobber to a hysterical pile of goo was not its color nor its material, but its sheer _size._ The tunic absolutely swallowed the boy's frame, hanging all the way down his calves, fitting him almost like a dress. Odin above, it looked like it would fit _Gobber_ with wiggle room. Hiccup had cinched his normal belt around his waist, revealing his true minute girth under the sea of fabric and, in Gobber's opinion, making him look even more ridiculous. One sleeve had been rolled up so it only just covered his hand, while the other dangled full-length, yawning down to his legs. Every now and then, he sulkily chased the collar of the tunic that continually slipped down his shoulder, looking for all reasons and purposes like a toddler who had attempted to play dress-up in their parents' armor.

"Dad made it for me, for my birthday," Hiccup grumbled over the blacksmith's laughter, eyes daring Gobber to challenge his father's flawed handiwork. However, once he calmed down, Gobber only scoffed.

"I think he was tryin' to make that for himself. Look at it! It's practically down to the ground! Ye look like an idiot."

"I know," Hiccup sighed, choosing to ignore the insult for now, struggling to move closer and not have the tunic simply drop off of him. "He said I'd grow into it…"

Gobber shook his head incredulously. He loved Stoick to death, like a brother, but sometimes the wise chief didn't have one shred of sense. Did Stoick really believe that little fishbone Hiccup would actually fit in that tunic at _any_ point in his lifetime, much less within the next several years? Had he even bothered to glance at his son to estimate what might fit him at all?

"Yeah, not likely. In the meantime, I can't have ye workin' in my forge in that getup. Ye won't be able to keep track of all that fabric; ye'll go up in flames the first thing ye do." He gestured for the boy to follow him. "Here, come on, I've got some needle and thread in the back. I'll show ye how to fix that dress yer dad gave ya."

For a while, Hiccup and Gobber both tinkered with the grossly oversized tunic as if it were a weapon whose forging required their combined attention, Gobber showing Hiccup where to put the needle and Hiccup carefully following the instructions, small fingers handling the tiny tool better than many Viking women. When he was reassured that Hiccup knew what he was doing, Gobber left the boy to finish the job himself, returning to his catapult spring and trying his best for Hiccup's sake to contain his laughter every time the boy stuck himself with the needle.

By the time Gobber was putting the last touches on his spring, he heard Hiccup approach behind him, and turned with an expectant grin.

"Gobber, does this look right?" Hiccup pulled at the tunic, which fit him much more snugly and was actually at a proper length. He looked like the fishbone he was supposed to be again, and this reassured Gobber.

The older blacksmith got up to walk a circle around the boy, checking Hiccup's work on the stitching. It was crooked, amateur, but as the old Viking sentiment went, it'd do the job just fine. "Looks great, Hiccup. Maybe ye've got a future as a seamstress."

"Very funny," Hiccup sneered, pulling at a loose thread and quietly admiring his work.

Gobber folded his arms and tried not to laugh as the memory of the tent-sized tunic came back to him. "… But maybe on yer next birthday, ye should tell yer dad what might actually fit ya."

"He won't listen…"

"Ye don't know that! Just tell 'im. He'll listen, trust me."

Hiccup just sighed and nursed his needle-punctured fingertips. "I hope you're right…"

* * *

The day after Hiccup's fourteenth birthday, Gobber's apprentice arrived to work with a bundle in his hands.

"Hey Gobber," he called, approaching his instructor, who turned from working on his prosthetic leg to look at him, "I've got a present for you."

Gobber, after giving Hiccup a prolonged look of both suspicion and excitement, took the bundle and unwrapped it. "Oh, a new tunic, eh? Thankya Hiccup, looks like it'll fit jus' right! My ol' one was gettin' a little torn up anyway." He mussed Hiccup's hair, and the boy ducked away with a cheerful 'You're welcome', venturing to put on his apron and gloves.

"… Uh, 'ey, Hiccup?" Gobber's voice reached across the forge, now steeped in a bit of skepticism. "… By any chance was this one-a yer birthday gifts from yer dad?"

The younger of the two turned away so Gobber couldn't see his slightly peeved smile. "Of course not, Gobber," he said, containing his ire, "What could've made you think that?"

Hiccup just hoped his downsized green tunic would last him a couple more years.


	5. The Unhelpful and the Lovelorn

**Hello again! It's good to be back, and it was even nicer to find all of your favorites/follows/reviews in my inbox! Thanks so much (once again!) for all of your support! I'll start replying to guest reviews in the A.N. at the end of chapters, for those of you lovely people who leave them. :)**

**And so we revive with chapter five: Gobber helping out a lovesick Hiccup (well, trying to), because come on—we all know he would. XD Takes place about a year or two before the movie.**

**With that, thanks for visiting and I hope you enjoy reading!**

* * *

"Ye've got a crush on Astrid, 'aven't ya?"

Hiccup immediately choked on his sip of water, quickly leaning over to pound on his frail chest and cough painfully. Finally, he dragged his form back to a vertical position, staring at Gobber like his instructor had grown a second head (or hand or leg). _"What?"_

Gobber just snickered at his awkward apprentice, taking a drink from his own mug. It was a nice day (nice by Berk's standards, at least), and the pair ate their noontime meal sitting on the ground outside the forge, ignoring the remaining chill in the air as the snow melted in preparation for the hailing months. After five minutes of no conversation, Gobber had brought up the subject of his apprentice's love life at the most inopportune moment—namely, while the kid had been trying to drink. No matter. Gobber would get an answer out of him eventually.

"Ye heard me. Astrid, the lass, yer age, blond hair, ya know? Ye like her. Don't think I haven't seen!"

Hiccup fixed him with a nasty glare, more carefully drinking his water. "Seen what, exactly, O Wise Gobber?"

Ignoring the sass, the blacksmith continued, "Oh, I see a lotta things, lad. The way you an' ever' other kid yer age looks at 'er. She's a pretty lass, ya know. With yer brains and her, y'know, _Viking_-ness, you two'd make perfect children!"

Previous collected glare now gone from his face, Hiccup looked mortified. "We're not having this conversation."

"Sure we are!" Gobber exclaimed encouragingly whilst companionably slapping Hiccup's back, as if this might cure Hiccup's aversion to talking to his father's best friend about his interest in the opposite gender, before continuing, "An' that's not all I see. I mean, anyone else come into the forge to get their spear fixed up or whatnot, ye don't even look 'em in the eye! _Astrid,_ now, that lass comes in and ye get all red, ye talk to her… well, _try_ to talk to 'er… and ye fix up that axe like it belonged to Odin 'imself!"

"I do_ not_ get _red!"_ Hiccup snapped loudly, causing one or two heads to turn from the passing villagers. On cue, Hiccup's face turned crimson, numerous freckles disappearing into the red glow, and he hissed, leaning closer to Gobber, "And I'm only trying to do my job! Do you want me to ignore her or something?"

Gobber chuckled in that adult fashion that Hiccup loathed. "No, but ye don't have to fall all over yourself tryin' to make a good impression either, do ya? Hey, don't ya worry; I get it, I was young once. Why, I was a reg'lar romantic when I was yer age!"

Hiccup's face contorted in and out of disgust and amusement for a moment, most likely pondering how someone like Gobber could ever go about being _romantic._ "… Thanks for, uh, sharing that, I guess…" Remembering their initial topic, he hurriedly asserted as forcefully as he could, "But that doesn't matter. I still don't _like_ Astrid."

"Ye can't fool this ol' blacksmith, Hic." Gobber sounded so boredly confident in his knowledge that Hiccup became flustered.

The boy huffed. "Well, why _would_ I like her? She's scary, rude, and violent… and she'd never date me anyway! She's strong and a good fighter, the village likes her, and she's _way_ too pretty for m—" Hiccup seemed to realize where his words had been leading him, because Gobber had been giving him an increasingly dodgy smile and his face immediately morphed from idle infatuation to panic. "I-I mean, what I _meant_ was, I… Oh gods…"

Gobber started to laugh, loud enough to turn more heads from passerby, but unlike Hiccup he didn't much care about their opinions, and continued to guffaw even while the younger blacksmith was practically strangling (or _trying_ to strangle) him, hissing, "Shut up! Shut up!"

Eventually, Gobber calmed down, pushing the boy off of him and giving a final humorous sigh. Then he grinned and leaned toward Hiccup, tone hushed. "So have ye tried talkin' to her, lad?"

"Talking to her?" Hiccup picked at the remainder of his meal and glanced sidelong at Gobber. "She barely knows I exist."

"Now, how can that be?" Gobber exclaimed. "There's only a few kids yer age in town."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Fine, rephrase. She knows I exist and chooses not to acknowledge that fact."

Undeterred by this frankly disheartening information, Gobber resolved, "Then yer just gonna have to 'pproach her outside-a the forge and talk to her!"

"Ugh…" Hiccup dragged a hand down his freckled face, not wanting to offend Gobber by refusing his help but also wanting to wring the older man's neck. "Gobber, I appreciate your, uh… "_help"_… But I seriously doubt anything I do or say to Astrid will ever made her like me. It'd probably just make her hate me more."

"Ye don't know that! Do ye think yer mother liked yer father when they first met? No, sir! She hated him! Rightfully so, in my 'pinion… But with a lil' help from ol' Gobber, they got married and _you_ were born! So, in a way, ye owe me one, kid. But on the other hand, that also means I can help ya out with Astrid so ye can have nice Vikin' children that won't be disappointments like you!"

Hiccup's mind was still stuck on the bit about Gobber's involvement with his mother and father, and he questioned his entire existence for about five seconds before shaking it off, vowing to interrogate his father about it later, and finally backpedaling, "Oh, no. No, no. You can't help me with Astrid."

"And why not?"

"Because… Well, because it's _weird,_ that's why! You're my boss, _and_ my dad's best friend, not my matchmaker. _Please,_ Gobber, just stay out of it."

Gobber raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Ye don't want my help. But if ye ever change yer mind…"

_ "Gobber._ No."

"Okay, okay, lad," Gobber chuckled, lifting his mug of ale to take a sip, and, considering the case closed, Hiccup was reassured enough to continue eating his lunch. However, after a moment, Gobber said slowly, "But, uh, in case it interests ya, Hiccup… A few days ago while ye were fetchin' water, Astrid came into the forge to fix her axe, and I may 'ave mentioned a couple things 'bout ya…"

* * *

In the woods near Raven Point, Astrid paused in fetching her axe from a tree when a faraway, shrill scream of _"GOBBER!"_ echoed through the woods. She almost recognized the voice…

She just shook her head and wondered if Elder Gothi would be willing to check her head later on that day.

* * *

**Mottleflower: Aww, thanks so much for your reviews! I'm glad you like the story! I quite like your idea; I'll definitely try to use it in the future. Thanks so much! :) **

**Xyst: I feel just the same way about Gobber! He really is awesome. :) And thank you so much for your kind review! I work the hardest on portraying characters, so it is such a compliment that you think Hiccup is in-character! Thanks again. :)**


	6. Sick Days and Stalwart Jerks

**Hiya everyone! Once again, thanks so much for your support! It never ceases to make my day. :)**

**So now chapter six is thrown into the mix: the classic tale of somebody getting a cold. :) I've noticed that Hiccup's personality tends to lean towards 'nurturing', so I figure (hope) that his role in this chapter is true to his character. XD**

**Feedback is appreciated but not required, of course. Thanks for reading and please enjoy!**

* * *

Gobber heard Hiccup long before he saw him in the pre-dawn darkness. The boy was complaining loud enough to wake the whole street—about the wet fog and the slippery slush covering the ground and the wind that blew mercilessly and the darkness that had not yet been overcome by the rising sun…

"… and it's _freezing!"_ his apprentice shouted as he entered the forge, voice echoing around the wooden walls. Hiccup promptly clutched at his skinny arms and rubbed them furiously in a feeble attempt to get some feeling back into the numb appendages.

"… Oh, hey Gobber," the boy remarked almost as an afterthought, sparing a glance to the mountain of a man poised on his workbench, before giving one last body-wracking shiver and traipsing over to slip on his gloves and apron, "How long have you been here?"

"All night," the blacksmith replied noncommittally, taking a moment to rub his sagging eyes before returning to polishing a bloodied sword.

Hiccup frowned after slipping his apron over his head, glancing outside at the abundance of fresh snow. "All night…? Gobber, it was practically a blizzard all last night. It was probably freezing in here, even with the fire. Why didn't you go home?"

The blacksmith suppressed a chuckle; he was never sure whether to find it funny or very creepy when Hiccup played mother hen. Which was often these days. "Aw, ye know. I've been trainin' all those new recruits; I haven't had time to keep up on my jobs. Had to pull an all-nighter just to get somethin' done."

Hiccup's arms folded, this time out of clucking disapproval instead of cold. "If you really needed help, why didn't you ask? It's not like I have anything to do."

"'Cause I don't _need_ help!" Gobber half-snapped, quickly becoming exasperated with his prying apprentice. "Dragon training's almost through; things'll be back to normal soon. In the meantime, I'd be watchin' yer own back. The village ain't happy ye got that longship set on fire."

"Hey, that _wasn't_ my fault! I didn't know the dragon would follow me _into_ the water, and…" He frowned, placing his hands on his hips. "You're changing the subject!"

"Am not. Get to yer work now, 'fore I fire ya."

"You always say that," the boy groused, before returning to his own workbench, boredly replacing the handles of several axes. He had no idea how Gobber had stayed in the forge all night, without even a cloak. It was cold enough in the daytime; he didn't want to imagine what it was like in the forge with the chill of night, during a snowstorm no less.

"You're working too hard, you know," Hiccup called, eyes not leaving his project.

"Seems I'm the only one 'round here."

"You're gonna get sick."

"Vikings don't get sick, Hiccup."

"I'm telling you. Give it a day or two, and you're going to get a nasty flu…"

Gobber laughed at this proposal like he had never heard anything so ridiculous (and for a blacksmith that believed in trolls, that was saying something). "Gimme a little credit! I ain't a pansy, I don't get sick from a lil' work. C'mon, now. And ye'd better be fixin' those axes like I asked ya!"

"I am," Hiccup sighed, returning his attention to the task, and after one final sing-song, "Don't say I didn't warn you…", he finally decided to drop the subject. He just hoped Gobber didn't actually get sick, because that wouldn't be much fun for anyone.

"Stupid Vikings with their stupid stubbornness issues…"

* * *

The next day, Hiccup once again announced his early-morning arrival with a string of complaints longer than old man Mildew's facial hair. "… know how many _times_ I slipped on my way over here?!" he demanded of no one in particular, and sighed, irritably rubbing his now-sore, soaking wet bottom as he entered the building. His complaints paused in subconscious anticipation of his instructor interjecting to scoff at him, but was thrown off when only silence answered his voice.

"… Hey, Gobber? Where are…?" Hiccup's eyes led him to Gobber's mountain-sized form leaning over his workbench, but when the blacksmith turned to face him, his mouth dropped open slightly. "…_ Oh."_ Gobber's nose had turned an unpleasant shade of purplish red, and it ran like a spigot (Hiccup wrinkled his own nose at this). Haggard circles lined his eyes and not even the typical heat blush masking his face could cover the pallid color of his skin. He regarded Hiccup in an exhausted manner, continually rubbing his temples like he had a headache.

"Do ye have to beller so _loud,_ Hiccup? Yer killin' me," Gobber grunted, voice scratchy and adenoidal. Usually Hiccup's complaints were good invite to some banter, but his head was pounding and the boy's loud, nasal voice was like nails being driven into his skull, for lack of a better simile.

"Gods, Gobber, you look awful," Hiccup remarked bluntly, approaching the man with his hand canted and eyes narrowed in concern. "Are you sick or something?" After a moment, his question rang in his head, and all concern melted off the boy's face, replaced with a slow grin and a sly turn of the head. "You're sick, aren't you?"

"'Ere we go," Gobber grumbled, shaking his head and turning back to his work, trying to ignore the younger blacksmith and his headache-inducing voice.

"Just like I told you. I told you, didn't I?"

"Ye can just shaddap, I _ain't_ si—… i… _Aaa-choo!" _Gobber proceeded to let out a monstrous sneeze, the shrapnel of which Hiccup blocked with both arms thrown over his face. The boy took a moment to scowl at the blacksmith for this—he quite disliked having another person's snot on his face, after all—before returning to his pestering.

"Just admit you're sick, Gobber. Admit _I_ was _right."_

"I ain't sick." Gobber wiped his nose resolutely like this proved his case.

"Oh, yeah? If you're not sick, why are you sneezing like that?"

"'Cause I'm allergic to _you,_ that's why!"

Hiccup rolled his eyes once, and then continued to press, "Come on, just admit it, Gobber. You're sick, you _are."_

_"Fine!"_ Gobber finally caved. His head hurt too much, his throat was too sore, and his nose was running too continually for Gobber to even want to continue arguing with the boy. "Fine! I'm sick! I shouldn't've worked so hard and I shouldn't've stayed all night." Hiccup raised both eyebrows expectantly, and Gobber groaned. _"Fine_. … Maybe, in a way—a _really_ small, not important way—ye were kind of…" His voice grew as low as possible as he grumbled out the last word, "… right."

Hiccup grinned, restraining whoops of delight for Gobber's sake, as he basked in his rare victory for a moment—even if it was just getting his instructor to admit he had a cold—before his expression returned to its previous mother hen form, and he chided, "You shouldn't have come to work if you knew you were sick."

"I've told ya before, and I'll tell ye again…"

_"The only time a Viking takes a break is when he's dead,"_ they recited in tandem, and Gobber sighed.

"So I've got to push this 'un out, Hiccup. It's Vikin' nature, ya know."

Hiccup rolled his eyes. "When have I ever paid attention to 'Viking nature'? Go home and sleep it off, come back to work tomorrow."

"Who's gonna…" Gobber paused to unleash a phlegm-filled coughing fit, "Run the forge?"

_"I_ will," Hiccup stated, looking miffed. "I can handle it!" Sensing Gobber's reluctance, he enticed, "I mean, why wouldn't I be able to? _You _taught me everything I know; I could run this forge one-handed! … Uh, no offense."

Gobber's meaty arms folded as he appraised his apprentice. The boy had been working here for seven years… what could possibly go wrong, anyway? "All right, fine…" Gobber finally relented. "But just don't—"

"Tell my dad, I know," Hiccup finished for him, and then grinned, reluctantly confident. "Come back tomorrow or whenever you're feeling better, and the forge will still be running nice and smooth, I promise."

Gobber felt like maybe he should have second thoughts about leaving his forge in the scrawny hands of the kid upon whom Stoick had bestowed the title 'the worst Viking Berk has ever seen', but on the other hand, going home and sleeping was sounding better and better by the second. "Aw, I'm sure it will. Thankya, Hiccup. See ya tomorrow."

Hiccup's grin remained as he waved. "Bye!"

Gobber waved back and then began to trudge away from the forge, towards his house down the street, all the while forcing himself not to worry. "He's been workin' in that forge since he was pract'ly a baby! It'll be fine…"

The next morning, a recovered Gobber arrived to an only-partially charred forge, surrounded by only a few unsatisfied locals who were pestering a Hiccup who only had one clump of singed hair. Gobber dispersed the villagers with promises of speedy and quality repairs on their weapons, and then turned on Hiccup, whose eyes habitually averted downward in preparation for a lecture.

If Hiccup's face was _always_ going to light up like that when Gobber congratulated him on a job well done—even when maybe the job could have been done better—, the older blacksmith had to ponder the idea that maybe taking an occasional sick day wasn't such a horrible thing after all.

* * *

**Xyst: I'm so glad you liked the chapter, and once again, found everyone to be in-character! Sorry you didn't like the pairing the last chapter focused on; hopefully this one was more to your taste. Thank you so much, again, for your wonderful review! :)**

**Loonaticslover13: While you're not a guest reviewer, I couldn't PM you, but I just had to reply. :) Thank you so very much for your kind and thoughtful review! I definitely agree on that irony; it's quite an unfortunate dynamic that Hiccup, Stoick, and Gobber share. :( Yes, I figured it was best to leave what Gobber said to Astrid a mystery, because it was probably pretty embarrassing... I'm sure he was just trying to talk Hiccup up (and failing miserably). XD Thanks again for your review!**


	7. Frigid Farewells

**Hello, everyone! I hope you all have been doing well. I still just can't believe all the support I get from everyone; thanks so much! You're all so wonderful and sweet to me. :)**

**Well, here goes lucky chapter seven: we take a trip to the angst-y side with a chapter centered on the relationship between Gobber, Stoick, and Hiccup, requested by the lovely Doomsday Beam (I hope you like it!). :) I based this chapter loosely around a deleted scene from HTTYD 1, called "Goodbye at the Docks". This takes place a few months prior to the movie (so, when Stoick and Hiccup's relationship is still really strained). As canon-Gobber never plays a central role in angst-y scenes, his characterization in this chapter was a bit experimental for me—I guess I was going for 'still very tactless but fairly comforting when he realizes he needs to be'? XD Hopefully no one seems too OOC. :( I promise sassy Hiccup and Gobber will make their return soon. :) **

**Okay, I talk way too much. So, as per usual, reviews aren't mandatory but I certainly appreciate them; thanks for visiting and I hope you enjoy this (extra-long for some reason?) chapter!**

* * *

It was a windy, overcast day on Berk, and the entire village was bustling. About a third of the tribe population, led by Stoick the Vast, were embarking on the first voyage of the spring, in yet another attempt to find the dragons' nest. Stoick had managed to convince the village that these ships _would_ come back with all warriors intact, because this time he knew _for sure_ where to look for the nest, and the denizens of Berk were understandably excited by this premonition.

At the forge, Gobber and Hiccup worked as usual, repairing the remaining broken weapons from the last dragon raid and already beginning to create the weapons they knew would be lost on the search for the dragon nest. Gobber was a little sour about being left behind _again,_ but then again, he never much liked Stoick's excursions into Helheim Gate. There seemed to be an inclination towards frostbite and general death and misery on all the determined chief's journeys—yeah, Gobber would be just fine staying in Berk. However, no matter his cynical opinion on Stoick's voyages, he and Hiccup always took a break from work to see the ships off—Gobber said it was good luck, Hiccup said it was pointless, but both went regardless, if only just for the time away from the stifling forge.

And so Gobber constructed weapons all morning along with Hiccup, listening intently for the signal that the boats were about to depart, when around lunchtime, he stopped.

_"Wait!_ Shush." Gobber stopped pounding the seax he was working on and motioned for Hiccup to freeze, which he did mid-step, wobbling with Gobber's spiked hammer prosthetic in hand. In the distance, a horn blew a prolonged note. "Hear that, Hiccup? The ships're leavin' soon!"

Hiccup grunted and finally cautiously set the hammer down at his feet, minding his toes. "Yeah? And?"

"We've gotta see 'em off! It's good luck, ye know!" Deeming the knife he had worked on 'good enough', Gobber deftly switched out his hammer prosthetic to his tongs, plucked up the weapon, and plunged it into the waiting slack tub. "C'mon! And I won't make ye stay late for the work we miss. Naw, this is my treat! Let's go!"

"Uh… Yeah, Gobber, about that…" Hiccup shifted awkwardly. "You, uh, you can go on ahead and see the ships off. I'll just stay here."

Now Gobber folded his meaty arms and turned from the anvil to frown at Hiccup. "Hic, yer _dad's_ leavin', and he won't be back for weeks! Ye have to go say goodbye. He'll be happy to see ya there!"

"Gobber, I'm really extra sure that he _won't—"_

"No if's, and's, or but's, Hiccup, we're goin' down to the docks." He shoved his prosthetic into the still-glowing coals for a moment, then withdrew them and clanged the hot tongs at his apprentice, effectively herding him out of the forge as he dodged the sizzling iron.

"Gobber! Cut it out! You're _crazy!_"

"C'mon! Keep movin'! We're gonna miss 'em!"

Gobber herded Hiccup all the way across town and down to the docks, by which time the tongs had cooled but Gobber kept Hiccup moving with threats of making the boy take over at the anvil when they returned to work. When they reached the docks, Gobber paused to search for Stoick among the crowds of well-wishing family members and Vikings loading the ships, and saw him standing near the lead boat, giving orders.

"There he is! C'mon!" Gobber caught Hiccup's arm and dragged him over to the chief, greeting enthusiastically, "Hey Stoick!"

The chief turned and barely smiled, but the diminutive gesture fell off his face when he spotted Hiccup being dragged behind his friend. "… Hello," he replied shortly.

"Me 'n Hiccup thought we'd come down and see ye off," Gobber supplied for an explanation, "For good luck so ye'll find the nest and stop takin' yer frustrations out on ev'rybody—y'know, like me—and all that… Well, you two go on 'n say goodbye." He took a step back so he was physically out of the conversation, and grinned encouragingly, making a vague hand gesture intended to mean 'go ahead and talk'.

A heavy silence ensued.

Gobber quickly began to feel uncomfortable, glancing between the two and waiting for them to say something to one another, waiting for them to hug and say goodbye like all the other families on the docks around them. Neither Hiccup nor Stoick looked like they were planning on saying _anything_ to each other, both subtly turning away from the other and staring at the ground. Thor, to an outsider, one would not have been able to tell that they even knew each other, much less that they were father and son.

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments more, and Gobber urgently raised his eyebrows at Stoick—beckoning him to say something, _anything_ to Hiccup. The man returned the look with a scowl but heaved a sigh and turned to his son.

"… Goodbye," he said brusquely.

Hiccup was examining his boots, looking neither surprised nor enthused with Stoick's meager farewell. He mumbled glumly, "Yeah, see you later."

Gobber rolled his eyes and dragged an exasperated hand down his face, muttering to himself cantankerously. Since a few years after Val died, this _always_ seemed to happen when Stoick left, but recently it had gotten worse. He really just didn't understand what was going on with his best friend and his apprentice, but some part of him felt like it was his duty to at least get them to _talk_ to each other—mostly because he was the one they both complained to and he was quite sick of all their fighting. They were father and son and the only close family either had left; it befuddled Gobber that they wouldn't even say goodbye to one another, especially since Stoick was leaving on a potentially dangerous journey. Well, whatever. If they wouldn't talk by themselves, Gobber was going to _force_ them, even if they ended up standing on the docks all day long.

So Gobber turned to his apprentice, with a look of _you had better go along with this or I will feed you to the next Monstrous Nightmare we see_ on his face. "Stoick," he said deliberately, "what Hiccup _meant_ to say to ya was…"

Hiccup sighed moodily at the prompt, crossing his arms and not dragging his eyes up from the ground. His voice came out a sullen mutter. "Goodbye… Dad."

"And?" Gobber prodded.

"I hope you find the dragon's nest or whatever it is you're looking for."

Gobber smacked him subtly, and repeated, "And?"

"… Have a safe trip. I'll be… here. Like usual."

"And?"

"I'll… miss you, Dad."

_ "And?" _

Hiccup lifted his head a fraction of an inch to narrow his eyes at Gobber, but seeing no mercy on his instructor's face, he averted his eyes downward once again and mumbled, barely audible, "I love you."

Gobber nodded in approval at Hiccup and then turned on Stoick, who had watched the entire exchange with a mixture of awkwardness and impatience. "Hiccup, now Stoick has somethin' to say to ya," Gobber said with a cheery tone of voice that didn't match the death glare he was giving his best friend, gesturing at the chief to speak.

Stoick shifted, and rumbled gruffly, "Uh… Goodbye, son. I'll be back in a few weeks. Probably."

"Keep goin'."

"Stay… out of trouble, if you can. Don't let the house burn down again."

"And?"

Stoick fished for something to say. "Keep… Keep working hard."

"And…?"

"I'll be thinking of you," Stoick finally muttered, "I love you too."

Gobber nodded his approbation and waited again. When neither the father nor the son made another move, favoring instead to stand there in silence, Gobber rolled his eyes. "Do I have to do everythin'…?" he grumbled to no one, and then gave Hiccup a push towards his father. The boy shuffled forward like a prisoner to the gallows, and upon reaching Stoick's side, he unhappily struggled to put one arm around his father's massive back. Stoick inelegantly patted the back of Hiccup's head, and they remained in the pathetic contact they passed off as a hug for only a second or two before backing away from each other, muttering fragments of sentences to one another.

Gobber watched the entire display with a certain degree of incredulity; then again, he didn't know what else he should have expected from the indifferent chief and his awkward son who had more disagreements than the opposite sides of a magnet. He remembered, years and years ago, when Stoick was leaving on a journey, he would warmly embrace Hiccup and then kiss his wife, vowing the entire time that he would return home soon. Gobber ruefully reminded himself that those days were long gone. "All _right_ then," he announced, louder than necessary, "Good luck, Stoick! Find the nest and send 'em runnin'! Hiccup and me'll be at the forge ev'ryday! Workin' and all that! We just _know_ ye'll find the dragons and kill ev'ry last one of 'em! We have complete faith in ye, don't we, Hiccup?" The teenager nodded dismally, and Gobber continued, overly chipper, "See ye later! Bye! Return safely! Goodbye!"

Stoick subtly rolled his eyes at Gobber as he hefted his pack over his shoulder. He nodded somewhat curtly to both the blacksmith and his son (getting an enthusiastic wave and barely even eye contact in return, respectively), and boarded the waiting longship. With not another glance backward, he shouted, _"Set sail!"_ The Vikings on the ships raised the anchors, and all six boats began to sail away, amidst cheers from the watching villagers. Gobber stood with Hiccup and watched the boats until they were barely dots on the distant blue horizon. After the boats disappeared from view, the well-wishing villagers still on the docks dispersed to return to their chores, leaving Gobber and Hiccup alone.

They remained in silence for a length of time, gazing out at the empty, roiling blue sea.

"He…" Gobber paused to clear his throat, feeling awkward upon breaking the quiet, "He really does feel bad, y'know, for leavin' ye alone like this."

Hiccup's eyes had not moved from where the ships had disappeared from view, expression gloomy, and now he exhaled just as bleakly. "You and I both know he doesn't."

"Hiccup…"

"You were practically pulling teeth just to get him to say goodbye!"

"Now don't act like this is just 'im; I had to pull yer teeth, too!"

Hiccup turned on Gobber, almost shouting. "Well, maybe I'm tired of being enemies with the one person who should care about me!"

"Yer not enemies! Ye just… don't always understand each other."

Hiccup laughed, incredulous and without mirth. _"Yeah,_ I'll say!"

"An' I know ye two have yer share of fights an' whatnot, but I'm pretty sure he loves ya! Why just the other day I swear he mentioned ye, and—"

"Gobber—" Hiccup tried to interrupt, but the blacksmith continued obliviously,

"… He didn't sound _too_ disappointed, so that just goes to show ya—"

_ "Gobber!"_ Hiccup's shout effectively silenced the blacksmith, who blinked at his apprentice almost owlishly. "Sorry…" Hiccup apologized briefly, "But… I just… The thing is, Gobber…" One of Hiccup's hands clenched at the air as if the words he was searching for were tangible and could be picked out of the air. His voice grew small. "… He's all I have left, Gobber. And… And that scares me."

"Hiccup…" Gobber began, but the boy shook his head drearily, eyes growing glassy.

"Gobber, just… forget it. Please, just forget it. I just wanna go home."

The blacksmith watched the boy for a moment, wanting to speak words of pity, wanting to convince the boy his father really did care, but wise enough to know that Hiccup had had enough for one day. "… Sure, Hic," he finally agreed simply, "Sure. C'mon, let's go. I'll take ye home. Don't ye worry 'bout work." He gently put a hand on Hiccup's bony shoulder, and together, they walked back into town in silence.

Gobber couldn't help but sigh despairingly as he watched his apprentice's melancholy visage. When Hiccup and Stoick were together, the boy would backtalk, Stoick would yell, and they would argue loud enough to wake the whole island; they couldn't seem to stand living in the same house. But for some reason, despite how dysfunctional Stoick and Hiccup were when together, it was when they were apart when Gobber saw just how broken their relationship was.


	8. Cross-Examination

**Hey guys! As usual (and I'm sure this is getting more redundant with every chapter), I'm so thankful for everyone's support! :) You're all awesome.**

**So with that, we add to the plate chapter eight: a little interrogation between Gobber and Hiccup (not quite the return to lightheartedness I promised, but it works, I guess?). This takes place during the movie, more specifically sometime during the little montage illustrating Hiccup's new 'double life' sort of deal as he goes between dominating in the dragon ring and bonding with Toothless. Also, it's in Hiccup's POV for once! I should probably do that more often. D: **

**Welp, thanks for putting up with me being slow as molasses, and please enjoy!**

* * *

The sun was setting as Gobber plunged their last completed weapon of the day into the waiting slack tub, and Hiccup watched the furiously hissing steam with immense gratitude. He still liked working with Gobber, he always did, but now that he was doing so "well" in the dragon-fighting ring, it was all Gobber wanted to talk about, and Hiccup, despite his attempted research into dragon-slaying jargon, still didn't understand half of what he was saying.

"All right then," Gobber announced cheerfully, wiping his one hand off on his trousers, "That's it for today; I'm gonna head home. Join me, Hiccup?"

"Uh, no," Hiccup responded, a bit distracted, his mind already set on the gear-shifting apparatus he was fine-tuning for Toothless. The only time he had been able to work on it—or any invention meant for his secret new friend—was after work everyday, for fear of being walked in on by a well-meaning Gobber. "You go on ahead. I'm gonna stay here for a while longer."

Hiccup had told Gobber the same thing every night after work for the last three weeks, and up until several days ago Gobber had nodded agreeably—it wasn't unusual for Hiccup to stay after work, after all—, said goodnight, and left. But for the last few days, Gobber had cast Hiccup suspicious looks, and now he sighed at his apprentice's words. "C'mere, Hiccup, and sit down," he beckoned, gesturing at their worktable, and the boy felt his heart slowly begin to sink as his legs maneuvered woodenly to the table to sit. Gobber couldn't have seen his invention sketches; the older blacksmith never entered Hiccup's workroom when the boy wasn't there, not to mention he couldn't fit inside… But the knowledge didn't make the high-strung boy any less uneasy.

Gobber took a seat across from his apprentice with his chin resting on his hand, eyes glued to Hiccup's face, seeming to be searching for something. Hiccup matched his gaze, hoping he didn't look as nervous as he felt. "Hiccup," Gobber started, concerned and a bit awkward, "Ye've been stayin' after work ev'ry day for the last three weeks. I know you're not havin' a fight with yer dad; he's gone… So what're ye up to?"

"Nothing! N-Nothing." Hiccup forced his eyes not to stray to the curtain separating his workroom from the rest of the forge, in which lay every sketch and half-built invention for the Night Fury that was his _friend._ That moth-eaten curtain was the only thing keeping him from most likely being exiled from his home, and the thought did not exactly comfort Hiccup. "Just… inventing and sketching. You know, the usual stuff."

"For three weeks?" Gobber sounded skeptical. "Doncha think ye should maybe put off the inventin' for a bit? Ye've been doin' so well in the ring, and I'm real proud-a ya, but ye need to make sure you're gettin' sleep, takin' care of yerself and all that. Got to keep up yer success, ya know?"

"Right! You're right," Hiccup agreed hastily, "T-That's me. Successful. Good at, uh, fighting dragons. But you know how I am with inventions, can't get off one till it's done…"

"You're stuck?"

"Uh, yeah."

"For three weeks?"

"… Yeah?" What was supposed to be a definitive answer came out sounding like a question.

Now Gobber looked a little confused. "… D'ya need my help? I don't know much about all yer strange contraptions, but I might be able to get ya started again…"

_ "No!"_ Gobber looked taken aback by Hiccup's sudden volume, so he quickly and nervously continued, quieter, "Uh, no. No, thanks. I-I mean, that's really nice of you and everything Gobber, but I'm fine! I can finish it. Thank you. But uh, no thank you."

Gobber nodded slowly, not responding to the string of rambling words, and continued in his earlier examination of his apprentice. Hiccup prayed to Odin that his face wasn't losing blood as rapidly as he thought, and forced a smile that probably came out more as a grimace.

Gobber's gaze was still on Hiccup's eyes, trying to find a clue as to what was going on. "Hiccup… Do ye have anything to… tell me, lad?" The younger blacksmith's face turned a pallid white at his words, and Gobber continued, trying his best to sound comforting, "Ye can tell me, Hic. Just tell me what's goin' on with ya, lad, and I can help ye out."

Hiccup pursed his lips, hands clenching into tight, anxious fists under the table. A small part of him just wanted to put his head down on the table and tell Gobber everything—about Toothless, and how bonding with his pet dragon was helping him in the ring when he couldn't _actually_ fight dragons, and how he now realized that dragons weren't dangerous so he was _really_ beginning to question his _entire_ existence as a Viking destined to slaughter them… But his lips only pressed tighter together. Certainly, Gobber was understanding and cared about Hiccup, at least more than anyone else on Berk, but his care and understanding could only go so far. If Hiccup told him about _this_, well… The boy didn't want to know what would happen. Even if Gobber _did_ believe him and didn't strap him to the mast of a ship and send him off for fear that he'd completely lost his mind, Hiccup was going to be in so much trouble that he may as well just jump off the nearest cliff to save his father the trouble of throwing him. No, this wasn't the right time; for better or for worse, Hiccup knew he had to keep his mouth shut.

So, he mustered up a smile. "No. No, I don't have anything to tell you. Why would I?"

"Why would ya, indeed," Gobber agreed after a moment, seeming half-relieved that Hiccup didn't have anything to say and half-suspicious that the boy was lying, but he let it go with an exhale before grinning back. "Well, get finished with yer inventin' and try to get to bed soon. Tomorrow we're fightin' the Gronkle again, and I'm expectin' the best from ya, Hiccup H. Haddock!"

"Right," Hiccup agreed, mind straying to the grass he'd found in the meadow he and Toothless crashed in the day before, "Yeah, I'll be there."

Gobber rose and rested a hand on Hiccup's bony shoulder. "See ye tomorrow, Hic. G'night."

"Yeah, you too." Hiccup smiled nervously, and Gobber let his hand rest for a moment longer before he removed it, gave a last encouraging smile, and finally hobbled out of the forge, whistling. Hiccup listened to the off-key song as it traveled down the street and finally out of earshot.

When he was sure the older man was gone, Hiccup slumped over at the table and despairingly threaded his hands through his hair, heart still racing. Gobber expected the best from Hiccup and would never force him to confess to anything, sure… But now he had his eye on his apprentice, and Hiccup wasn't sure how long he could stay in the spotlight before the audience realized he didn't know his lines.

Hiccup was living in a house of cards, and all he could hope was that the wind wouldn't come and blow it all down.

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**Xyst: Thank you so much! I'm glad everyone came off as in-character, and I'm so happy that you liked the chapter! :) Thanks again for all your wonderful advice and comments; I always love to read them! :)**

**Mottleflower: No no, don't worry about if/when you review or anything like that! Leave as much or as little feedback as is convenient for you. :) And thanks so much for this review; I'm glad you liked the chapter! (I also quite like the name "Hic"—I try to save it for the sentimental moments. XD) Thanks again; you're too nice to me. :)**


	9. Mead and Meatheads

**Hey everyone. I'm sorry I've been so slow. ): Thanks as always for the reviews/favorites/follows!**

**Here we (finally) be with chapter nine: little Hiccup tries mead for the first time, because one, I recently drank beer for the first time (not the same thing, I know, but close enough for jazz, eh?) and seriously, _how do people like it,_ and two, kid Hiccup and Gobber warms my heart for reasons unknown. XD A chapter this length really doesn't warrant the length of time I spent working on it, but. Ugh. I tried. And failed. D:**

**Well, then, thanks as usual for visiting, and please enjoy!**

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Gobber took a long sip from his tankard of mead, and sighed contentedly, sitting back and savoring the bitter taste. The sun was setting in Berk, but the fire roaring in the forge kept the inside comfortable despite the open windows and doors. Work was over and he had cleared a worktable near the fire, where he presently sat, enjoying his drink and freedom from the day's responsibilities…

Except _one_ responsibility, which sat across the table from him and watched the blacksmith with curious green eyes. Stoick had embarked on yet another dragon-hunt and had left Hiccup here all alone—while he hadn't given Gobber any instructions pertaining to the seven-year-old's care outside of "Make sure he eats", Gobber felt sorry for the little runt all alone in that big, cold house on the hill. So all week, for about an hour after their work in the forge concluded, he and Hiccup sat in the forge and conversed in front of the fire. Once Hiccup started nodding off, Gobber would carry the boy back to his house and put him in bed, and every morning Hiccup came back to the forge for breakfast and work. While it forced Gobber to stay up later and do more walking than he normally would have liked, he actually enjoyed the routine—the blacksmith felt like he was doing some kind of good deed, however small, by letting Hiccup fall asleep with company in the warm forge rather than by himself in his dark, cold house, not to mention he quite enjoyed the excuse to have a drink every night after work.

Gobber tuned back into his surroundings to take another sip, before noticing Hiccup had been silent for some time. He looked over, ready to ask his apprentice what he was thinking about (and prepared to listen to the drawn-out thought processes of an overly-imaginative child), only to see the boy's eyes locked on the older blacksmith's tankard.

"What're ye eyein' my drink for?" Gobber inquired, tone friendly, setting his mug down on the table and raising his eyebrows at the boy.

"… Nothing," Hiccup replied after a moment, averting his eyes and taking a sip of his own mug of warm milk.

Gobber examined the boy for a moment, before the answer dawned on him. "… _Oh._ I getcha now."

"Get what?"

"Ye've never had mead, right?" When Hiccup hesitantly nodded yes, unsure of what his instructor was up to, the man grinned. "Ye wan' a sip of my drink, doncha?"

Hiccup looked at him now, eager. "Can I? Dad never lets me. He says he doesn't want me to turn out to be a drunkard like you."

Gobber ignored the insult—Stoick had jokingly called him worse names before, and vice versa—before shrugging, amusedly. "I dunno… I don't think ye'd like it much."

"I will!" Hiccup insisted, before entreating, "Please? I promise I won't be a drunkard like you."

The older blacksmith laughed loudly at this, before conceding, "Okay, okay… Just don't tell yer dad. He'd butcher me."

Hiccup nodded rapidly, and the pair spat into their hands and shook on their silence (Hiccup's hand only managed to circle around Gobber's index finger, but it was a shake nonetheless). When the pact was complete, Gobber deftly detached his tankard prosthetic and slid it across the table, where the child eagerly lifted it with both hands and took a large gulp.

Instantly, the smile melted off of Hiccup's face, and his freckled face, cheeks puffed out with the mead, contorted into several different expressions of disgust. _"Hmfff!"_ he managed to get out in the best expression of distress he could muster, but when he made to spit out his mouthful of drink, Gobber stopped him, howling with laughter.

"No, no! Don't be a baby! Ye wanted it, ye drink it! Go on and swallow!"

Hiccup stared at him desperately and with betrayal, like Gobber had just sold him to a slave trader, but seeing no mercy on the older man's face, he plugged his nose and swallowed the disgusting concoction with more than a bit of difficulty, a shudder wracking his thin frame. Drained upon completing the arduous (in his mind) challenge, Hiccup flopped forward onto the table, taking a huge swig of his milk before inelegantly wiping his tongue on his sleeve, the overwhelming bitter-but-sweet favor lingering there despite his best efforts to wash it away.

Gobber was almost crying with laughter as he took the tankard back, only fragments of sentences escaping his mouth, most of them being to the effect of "Yer face," "Told ye so," and "Oh, _Thor Almighty!"_

"It's not funny!" Hiccup asserted crossly, internally thanking his father for not letting him drink mead and hoping that rule would hold out for a long, long time. "How do you drink that stuff? It's awful!"

Calming down, Gobber picked up the tankard with his good hand and took a swig to match Hiccup's, grinning. "Aw, I can't much blame ya. I hated mead when I was a younglin', too! It's an…" He searched for the word. "Acquired taste."

"'Ah-guired'?" Hiccup repeated confusedly.

_ "Acquired._ It means ye drink it till ye start to like it."

"I won't _ever_ like mead!" Hiccup insisted resolutely. "I'd drink seawater first!"

Gobber chuckled. "Aw, sure ye won't like it. Just promise me that if by any stroke-a fate ye ever _do_, ye'll come and have a drink with this ol' blacksmith."

"That's gonna take a lot of acquiring," Hiccup informed him in the most mature way a seven-year-old could, and Gobber chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But hey, I can wait. So, do we have a deal?"

"Yeah, sure," Hiccup finally agreed with a smile, and the pair thumped their tankards together and drank.

After the sun set, as Gobber carried the sleeping Hiccup across town to the boy's house, the happy grin remained on his face.

"I'm gonna hold ye to that promise, kid," he whispered, mussing the child's already messy hair. Because who knew? The day the blacksmith and his little apprentice were celebrating and drinking together might not be too far ahead.

Those were going to be some interesting drinking contests, and Gobber would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to it.

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**Xyst: Thank you so much (as always; you're really too nice to me :D)! Yeah, I would also call it guilt, and certainly, I'm sure that out of anyone in the village that Hiccup wouldn't want to keep secrets from, it would be Gobber, at least in that time frame. I dunno. XD Anyway, thanks again!**

**Mottleflower: :) Thanks, as always! I'm so glad to know that you're reading. :)**


	10. First Steps

**Wow! I'm alive! So, I'M SORRY I've been gone so long. :( I've been at a very intense marching band camp for the last two weeks, which consumed literally all but maybe 2-3 hours of my precious free time a day—basically, I've had about as much writing initiative as a moldy potato. XD So I'm really sorry about that! This story is alive and well, and will update much more regularly from now on (hopefully even with school starting!). Thanks for all your support and patience; you're quite the awesome bunch!**

**So here we go again with chapter ten—shortly after the movie, Hiccup learns to walk again from the amputee expert himself. This is probably the fluffiest chapter to date; sorry, couldn't help it, it just needed to be fluffy. XD **

**Anyhoo, thanks for putting up with me, and please enjoy this chapter!**

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"C'mon. Yer not gonna learn any other way."

On a chilly evening up at the candle-lit forge, Gobber was, per usual, trying to teach his apprentice something new that was a bit scary and could quickly become painful for all involved. Nothing unusual there. It would seem, to any outsiders that happened to see or overhear, that the only thing out of the ordinary on this midwinter's eve was the usually-rapt apprentice's apparent _lack_ of desire to be taught.

Hence the argument that the master and apprentice were currently carrying on.

"Gobber," Hiccup sighed, voice beginning to carry something like a whine as he was both emotionally and physically exhausted and was rapidly tiring of his instructor's pestering, "Thanks for offering, I mean, but I'm fine! Fit as a, uh… fit thing."

Gobber only shook his head amusedly, albeit ruefully, at his apprentice, who had not moved from the spot he currently sat for at least half an hour. Gobber had been standing before him and trying to goad him off of the bench for at least half that time. "Hic, yer talkin' to a guy who lost a leg too. I know what's it's like learnin' to walk again, and I know ye don't wanna do it, but ye just _have_ to. No reason to be embarrassed, now. So, c'mon. On yer feet, lad. Let's see how 'fit' ye actually are!"

Hiccup shifted uncomfortably here and there on the bench, mulling over his instructor's offer and all the possible assets and consequences attached to it, as Gobber waited patiently. Finally, not without a bit of hesitation, the boy began to rise, leaning heavily on the table, face twisted in pain.

Gobber smiled encouragingly. "There ye go. On yer feet. Let go o' the table—there ye go. Stand up straight, now." Hiccup did as he was told, wobbling, trying to keep the weight off of his prosthetic. "No, c'mon. Put yer weight on yer bad leg. Ye gotta trust yer stump, kid, or ye'll have loads o' trouble when ye start walkin'."

Hiccup's face was strained as he finally settled into as natural of a pose as he could muster, body tight with discomfort. "It hurts," he protested.

Gobber's voice softened sympathetically. "Aw, I know it does, Hic. But c'mon—yer the kid who took down the Green Death itself, Mr. Dragon Tamer and all that; ye can't tell me some pain in the stump's more trouble than that, can ye?" He was rewarded with a shaky smile, and Gobber continued, backing off a few paces to give the boy some room, "Okay, take a step. Yer good foot first."

Hiccup did as he was told, right foot first, and then hesitated. "This is where it starts hurting… well, hurting more," he remarked, wielding his sarcasm as the crutch he did not currently have, shifting a bit and wanting to return to the bench where he was sure he wasn't going to kill himself by falling and breaking his neck or something of the like.

"Move yer bad leg forward." Gobber slowly took a step towards Hiccup with his own stump leg in example. "Swing it out to the side a lil' bit so ye don't catch it on the ground and trip, even though ye're kinda inclined to that sorta thing."

"Ha ha." Hiccup did as he was instructed, swinging his leg wide out to the side (Gobber resisted chuckling at the sight) and cautiously setting his metal 'foot' down on the ground with a light, metallic tap. He hesitated, Gobber motioned him forward, and ever so carefully, Hiccup let his weight shift onto his bad leg to take another step… and immediately crumpled to the ground.

Gobber was there first, catching Hiccup with one meaty arm, and Hiccup smiled embarrassedly as Gobber pulled him back to his unsteady feet, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. "'S'kay, Hiccup. Happens all the time when ye first start. Go on and try again."

And so Hiccup tried again, three more times, and fell on every attempt. He tried again, took a complete step amidst Gobber's excited encouragement, and proceeded to trip as his metal foot caught in the wooden floor. He took a few steps and fell flat on his face. He tried to walk quickly, just to get his first steps over with, and his prosthetic, loosened by all the falling, came clean off, followed quickly on the ground by Hiccup. Hiccup tried to take a full step and knocked himself over with his exuberant leg swinging. He tried, once, twice, tenfold, to cross the forge to Gobber, every time crumpling over somewhere along the way with pain.

An hour later, Hiccup was at the table again, a little worse for wear, holding onto it like it was the only tiny sandbar for miles in the middle of a roiling sea, and Gobber was once again at the opposite side of the forge, standing and beckoning Hiccup to him.

"C'mon, Hic. C'mon over to me."

"I'm just gonna fall!"

"Just try. One more time."

Hiccup resisted the urge to protest that Gobber had been saying 'one more time' for the last half hour, taking in a deep breath. His whole body ached by now, not just his leg, and he was quite ready to give this up for the night. _One more time... this time, for sure,_ he promised himself, and cautiously let go of the table.

He took his first step, quite practiced by now, and then another, and another. Very slowly, he limped forward, setting up a rhythm in his head. _Good step, wait, swing leg, set down, weight shift, ouch, good step… _

Halfway across the floor, the boy froze, pain flashing across his pallid face and welling in his eyes as his leg began to convulse agonizingly. A tiny whimper managed to leave his pursed lips and he began to sag towards the floor.

"Hiccup…" Gobber started to walk forward to catch him. "Ye can stop if ya want…"

"No," Hiccup managed to get out, straightening with some difficulty and furiously dragging another painful step forward, "I _need_ to do this..."

Gobber quickly backed off at the look on his apprentice's face. It was _that _expression of Hiccup's, the one that spoke of fiery determination, of pure, unadulterated Viking stubbornness and a fierce desire to succeed. Hiccup was not going to give up anytime soon. "All right, then, Hiccup. C'mon, keep comin'. Take a step. There ye go…"

Gobber's hushed encouragement continued as Hiccup, breathing hard, painstakingly hobbled closer and closer, pausing occasionally to ward off the pain, until he was mere steps away from Gobber.

"C'mon!" the blacksmith encouraged, "Ye're almost there!" He held his arms out, beckoning him forward.

Hiccup paused to breathe heavily, examining the gap. When he had two legs, the distance would not have been even worth mentioning; as he was now, Gobber and that success that was so important to the dragon whisperer seemed worlds away. He'd never get there as he was moving now; the pain and exhaustion would overtake him before then, even if it was just mere steps. He needed to move quickly.

So Hiccup inhaled, slow and deep… and ran. Pain flared up his leg like the inferno he had lost it in, he wobbled and stumbled, but he was _running_—and on his last step he pushed himself forward into Gobber's arms, collapsing the instant something other than his own two legs were supporting him.

For a moment, they stood in silence, Hiccup leaning heavily into Gobber's chest, breathing like he had just run the perimeter of the island.

"I… I did it," he exclaimed exhaustedly, and Gobber chuckled and shifted the boy's flimsy weight so Hiccup's face was no longer pressed into the older blacksmith's belly.

"Yep. Ye did it, Hic. Ye did good." Gobber was quiet for a moment before grinning at his apprentice, a bit teasingly. "So, ye ready to walk home now?" He was answered with a resounding groan, and Gobber laughed loudly. "Okay, okay, I get ya, lad. Lemme get ye a crutch."

The thick, weathered spruce crutch was fetched and received and the few candles still burning were blown out before the pair left their forge for the night, Hiccup awkwardly and very slowly hobbling behind his instructor, leaning heavily on the ancient crutch that was much too tall for him. After only about ten paces, Gobber gave a good-humored sigh and easily lifted Hiccup with one arm, plopping the boy onto his back before continuing on his journey to his apprentice's house, happily ignoring Hiccup's insistences that _he could walk, seriously, he could!_ the whole way.

Gobber finally put Hiccup down when they reached the threshold to the boy's house, only letting his sturdy hands leave his apprentice's bony shoulder when he was certain Hiccup had a strong hold on the door. It was late, much later than the time that Hiccup usually arrived home and Stoick was probably asleep, but the blacksmith was certain that the boy's dragon would be up to help Hiccup as soon as the creature heard the door open.

"All right then, Hiccup," Gobber announced in his booming 'teacher' voice, "Ye got some good work done today! Make sure ye change the bandages on yer leg…"

"And go to sleep right away, I know, I know," Hiccup finished for him with a small smile, pain no longer so dominant in his tiredly cheerful expression though still present. Then he began to shift a bit, averting his eyes, and Gobber knew the boy had something to say.

"What is it, Hic—?" he tried to ask, but was cut off as the boy shot forward with surprising speed to wrap his skinny arms around Gobber's ample middle, the blacksmith stumbling back a few steps in surprise.

"Thanks, Gobber," Hiccup mumbled, voice muffled by his instructor's vest, and the mystified Gobber just managed to put his arms around the boy and squeeze back before Hiccup broke away with a grin, the emotion that had prompted him to hug his instructor gone from his cheeky smile but remaining in his wide eyes. "Okay then, 'night! See you tomorrow!"

Without waiting for Gobber's response, the boy opened the door and hopped inside before softly shutting it behind him, while the older blacksmith stood there, staring at the door with his arms still bent in front of him in a befuddled remnant of their brief embrace. Hiccup hadn't hugged Gobber for years…

The thought lifted the corners of Gobber's lips as he turned and began to hobble back to his own abode, but not before whispering to the quiet nighttime, "G'night, Hic."

Gobber knew so well himself, how difficult, how heart wrenching, how agonizing it was to lose a part of one's self. But somehow, some way, he knew Hiccup was going to make it, and the thought brought such a warm smile to the old blacksmith's heart.

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**Mottleflower: Thanks so much! I also quite like little Hiccup and Gobber, as Hiccup is, at least later on, quite a mature child and Gobber is quite an immature adult. XD And I think that idea is absolutely adorable! Actually, a few days before I received your review, I wrote my own chapter on Gobber meeting baby Hiccup, but I also love your idea—so it looks like I'll be publishing two chapters about Hiccup as a baby. :D Thanks so much for your fantastic idea and review!**

**Xyst: Thank you so much! Your reviews are so kind and flattering. XD I also love parental relationships; they're so sweet and underrated (and I love little HIccup too! At least in my headcanon, he's adorable :3). Glad you liked that part! I kinda based it off my reaction to drinking a beer-like drink for the first time, so I hope it was realistic. :) Thanks again!**


	11. The Delicate Art of Naming a Viking

**Here we are again! As always, thanks to all the fantastic people reading my brain goop. :)**

**Now, for chapter eleven: how Hiccup's 'middle name' of Horrendous came about. Basically, just an excuse for me to write Stoick as a happy new dad (because I find it really adorable for some reason…? Plus it's a good break from movie-era 'gruff and angry' Stoick) and Gobber as a really unhelpful friend who doesn't like babies. XD **

**Thanks for visiting, and I hope you like the chapter!**

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Gobber wasn't really a kid person. To put it simply.

He didn't like them with their screeching voices and their sniveling noses and their weak little arms and legs that weren't good for anything but playing. He was certainly not one to wax poetry on the beauty of the innocence of childhood or _anything_ like that, and you could swear by Odin that he'd swiftly clock anyone who did right up the head. He'd never had children and he didn't want any, and that was just something that was never going to change. Skies above, he didn't even like to be _near_ them.

But when his best friend and chief, passive and aloof as his name implied, was downright _giddy_ upon introducing his new child to Gobber and proceeding to shove the infant into the blacksmith's one-and-a-half arms, Gobber really had no choice but to endure, lest he ruin the good humor that was very rarely bestowed upon the stern chief.

Gobber had been summoned to visit his best friend's house on his noontime break on yet another cold, early winter's day. Talk had been floating around town for the past couple days that after a difficult delivery, the chief's wife had safely delivered a healthy child, so Gobber had had a pretty good idea of what Stoick wanted. That was not to say, of course, that he was happy about the prospect of leaving his work to deal with a screaming, puking infant. But, ever the devoted friend, he obligingly took off his soot-stained apron and axe prosthetic (battle hero or not, Stoick probably wouldn't be thrilled to have a sharp weapon around his newborn) and made sure that he didn't smell like he had worked the forge all day before hobbling his way through the snow, across town to the chief's abode.

Upon entering the house (without knocking or doing anything to announce his entry, of course, because he was _Gobber_ and privacy was much of a concern in his world), he was violently bearhugged by Stoick, who seemed to be having difficulty restraining all that… '_happiness'._ "Val delivered," was all he breathlessly reported, with a toothy grin wide enough to crack his thickly bearded face.

"I heard, quite a few folks been talkin' 'bout it," Gobber replied with a smile, glad to know that Valhallarama, one of the blacksmith's childhood friends, had made it safely through childbirth. "I take it yer happy, Stoick?"

The chief's eyes, a bit bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles but shining blissfully, were all the answer Gobber needed. "… D'ya want to see 'im, Gobber?" he almost whispered, voice tight with barely-restrained joy.

Before Gobber could finish debating with himself over how to go about answering that (maybe, _Hey, that sounds great Stoick, but even if that baby did come from ya, my best friend n' all that, I'm prob'ly still not gonna like the kid just 'cause he's a _kid_, so maybe ye should just introduce us when he's old enough to be fightin' dragons, _or something else that conveyed his lack of enthusiasm), Stoick was already happily cantering off up the stairs. There was a whispered conversation, presumably between Stoick and the still-resting Val, and soon enough, Gobber's friend quickly came back down with the bundle of joy itself swaddled in his arms—and before Gobber could argue otherwise, the infant had made its journey from the arms of its father to Gobber's meaty ones without the blacksmith being able to get in one doubtful word edgewise.

Which brought Gobber to where he stood now, awkwardly cradling the baby in a way he hoped was comfortable for the child whilst he examined its features. A dusting of gingery brown hair, the same color as Stoick's, covered the top of its head. Its little face was slightly pinkish, and had freckles like Val—a whole constellation of them smattered across the tiny face and the impossibly small hands, too small to even wrap around Gobber's pinky finger, that had managed to escape the blanket. Gobber didn't dare touch them, for fear that just lightly poking one of the tiny appendages would break them like fine glass from across the sea. The infant's dark blue eyes had opened since leaving its crib and now it silently stared up at Gobber with something like calm curiosity.

Unsure of what to say, Gobber commented, eyes still locked with the infant's in a strange little staring contest, "Ye said it's a lad, right?"

"Yes. A little son," Stoick affirmed fondly with a touch of pride of the good luck of managing to procure a son as his firstborn.

"Huh. Lil' is right." The infant, much thinner and smaller under his blankets than most Viking babies, could have easily fit in the palm of Gobber's one hand. "Babies are usually a bit bigger than this, ain't they?"

Stoick shrugged helplessly, defensiveness of his child steeping his tone. "He was born very early. It's lucky that he and Val are as healthy as they are. I'm positive he'll survive the winter, and he'll grow as big as all the other children in no time. He'll make a fine chief one day."

"Oh, don't ye worry, I'm sure he will." The infant let out a tiny sound, and Gobber almost began to panic in fear that the child was going to start bawling, but the baby just as quickly quieted and resumed staring at Gobber, little fists clenching and unclenching at the air above it as if trying to reach for the blacksmith. "… Hey, why ain't he cryin'? Don't babies usually cry and carry on?"

"He's not much of a complainer." The chief mussed the baby's wispy hair with a gentleness very rarely seen in the gruff leader, the infant cooing very softly at the touch, and Gobber watched with interest. It was a strange thing to him, what having a kid could bring out in a person.

"So…" Gobber shifted the infant around in his arms. "I haven't heard a name yet. Has he got one?"

"He does. His name is Hiccup."

To his credit, Gobber tried _very _hard not to laugh, he really did. Unfortunately, one still got out, an unattractive half-snort-half-guffaw that Gobber quickly muffled with his stump arm to keep from upsetting the infant. When his chortling was under control, he demanded incredulously, _"Hiccup?_ Ye named yer boy _Hiccup?"_

Stoick narrowed his eyes at Gobber, irritated at his friend's shocked response—but then again, considering he was talking to tactless Gobber, he really shouldn't have expected any different. "The name runs in the family. Val's father's name was Hiccup, and his father before him. She wanted to pass it on. Besides, it should do well to frighten off any gnomes n' trolls; you should know at least that, Gobber."

Gobber pointedly ignored the troll remark, and commented, "Wasn't Val's dad the guy who accident'ly cut off his own leg with an axe? And _his_ dad was the guy who tried to sail to some fairy-tale New World? Hiccup the Clumsy n' Hiccup the Loony, they called 'em."

"What's yer point?" Stoick inquired, suspiciously.

"My point is, that ain't a good name to give yer kid, Stoick. Bad luck aside, kids're gonna make fun of 'im; vindictive lil' devils, they are. Ye need somethin' tougher, like yer nephew's name... Snotface or whatever it was."

"Snotlout," Stoick amended a bit absently, before asserting, "And my boy'll be tough enough on his own."

"Not wit' a name like _Hiccup."_ Gobber rolled his eyes at the mere mention of the utterly un-Viking-like moniker. "I'm tellin' ya, Stoick, it all starts wit' the name. One second he's an innocent lil' baby named Hiccup—next thing ye know, he's a man fightin' wit' bows n' arrows."*

"Gobber!"

"It's true! I've seen it happen! I'm just tryin' to help ye out here, Stoick. Has he got a middle name yet?"

Looking almost afraid to answer, Stoick replied hesitantly, "No… Why?"

"Well, that's it! Give 'im a tough middle name to go with his not-so-tough first name; that'll get 'im some respect."

Stoick rolled his eyes sarcastically. "And what exactly did ya have in mind?"

"Well, somethin' that goes with the rest-a 'is name, obviously. Hiccup. Hiccup Haddock. Hm… I dunno. Hiccup Hideous Haddock, Hiccup Hateful Haddock, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock… the third, I guess," he added.

Stoick was surprised to actually find himself mulling over the names Gobber had provided. "Hm… Horrendous… Hiccup Horrendous… Well, I would have to ask Val…"

Gobber chuckled. "Aw, I'm sure ye'll figure it out. And wit' you as a dad, I'm sure this lil' tyke'll turn out just—_argh!"_ Baby Hiccup had chosen that moment to reach up and tug on Gobber's lengthy mustache. "Stoick! Take yer kid!"

"He likes ya," Stoick offered with a faint undertone of sinister intent, proudly watching his infant cheerfully yank at his best friend's face and hair while the blacksmith floundered, attempting to push the baby's little hands away with one meaty finger. The impromptu battle soon ended though, as the tiny infant tired, choosing to stick one end of Gobber's lengthy mustache into his mouth (not without the blacksmith complaining, though not with any real irritation in his tone) before falling into a light sleep. When he was certain Hiccup was asleep, the blacksmith gently tugged his beard out from the baby's mouth, and then watched the infant sleep for a few moments with almost a tender expression.

He gave Stoick a crooked grin as he finally passed the sleeping Hiccup back to the chief. "Well," he near-whispered, mindful of the sleeping baby, "I oughta be headin' back to work. You go on and think 'bout that middle name, Stoick! When the tyke gets a lil' bigger, bring 'im around. Maybe I can teach 'im to forge a spear or somethin'."

"I will," the chief grinned. "Thanks for comin', Gobber."

"Yeah, yeah… Just don't make a habit outta it." Gobber gave one last casual wave over his shoulder, smiled one more time at baby Hiccup, and then left the peaceful house, walking back through the village to the forge.

In the village, children ran amuck back and forth through Gobber's path, laughing and giving ear-piercing shrieks as they threw snowballs at each other and pushed one another into the dirt, Gobber almost tripping over a few that went down under his feet. Normally Gobber would have gotten irritated and brandished the most intimidating prosthetic he had on his person to chase the little devils away, but for some odd reason, instead of growing irritated, Gobber found himself chuckling at their antics all the way back to the forge.

Gobber supposed that, to put it simply, he was _kind of_ a kid person.

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***Very quick note: I read recently that though Vikings had bows and arrows at their disposal, they didn't use them in combat because it was seen as less honorable than fighting with a melee weapon (like an axe or spear). So... that's why Gobber mentioned Hiccup growing up to fight with a bow and arrow. XD Just something geeky to share with you.**

**Mottleflower: Glad I could make you laugh and warm your heart and whatnot! :D Thank you so much, as usual, for the fantastic review. :)**

**Xyst: Oh no, don't feel bad at all! Like I told Mottleflower a few chapters ago, review as often or as rarely as is convenient for you. :) Anyhow, I'm happy you liked the chapter and noticed the 'first steps' parallel (that was kind of what I was going for). :) I also imagine a prosthetic to be agonizing, especially back a thousand years ago. XD Thanks again for the review! ****  
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	12. Leather and Other Rites of Adulthood

**I live! :) Sorry about the slowness; Microsoft Word was being weird and kept murdering this chapter... so I had to rewrite it three times from scratch. D: So extensive blood, sweat, and tears went into ****this update! ... Mostly tears. ;( Anyway, the next few chapters will probably all be based on ideas lovely people have suggested/requested, so there's that. :)**

**For chapter twelve, we take an unprecedented trip to the era of 'after the movie'! I assume everyone in this fandom has seen the HTTYD 2 teaser trailer—this chapter takes place around that time, after Hiccup has basically stomped on puberty. I dunno, I liked the idea of Gobber being unable to grasp the fact that Hiccup has grown up. :)  
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**As always, thanks much for visiting, and please enjoy!**

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It was a relaxed, late winter day on Berk, the chilly air barely disturbing the two Vikings hard at work on their individual projects inside the village's forge. A few years had come and passed since the Battle of the Red Death (as the whole of Berk had begun to call it), and since peace had been made with the dragons, Gobber and Hiccup's work schedule had slackened greatly with the new lack of demand for fighting implements. Only a couple of days of structured blacksmithing work remained in the week, for constructing daily items and the occasional specially requested piece of jewelry or weapon, and the rest remained free. However, both blacksmiths still came to the forge on almost a daily basis, out of necessity with Gobber's new job as town dentist, and simple force of habit, not to mention Hiccup quite enjoyed the retreat from answering and helping out with every single dragon problem imaginable with the townspeople of Berk who, while almost wholly adjusted to life alongside the dragons at this point, still had frequent issues that they all called on Hiccup to answer.

Gobber had finished all of his dentistry work by mid-afternoon, putting away his well-loved (well, by him anyway) gigantic pair of pliers whose only use was to rip out bad teeth, much like he had just done with the irritable Zippleback that he had just finished with. Finding the queue of customers lined outside his door to be gone, Gobber finally let out a relieved breath and removed his apron, and then looked for Hiccup, with whom he had exchanged just a few sentences with this morning and figured that now that he was done with work, he may as well fix that.

He found the boy hunched over at a worktable, laboring over a design sketch. When he walked in that morning he had mentioned wanting to work on something or other, but Hiccup always spoke in such complicated terms that it was usually a struggle for Gobber to deduce what exactly he was talking about.

"Hey Hiccup," Gobber finally greeted, trying to get a conversation started as he plopped down next to said boy on the bench, "I see yer workin' on somethin'?"

"Mm." Hiccup was distracted, messily scratching some notes on the side of his page, tongue sticking out ever so slightly in concentration. Gobber couldn't help but laugh to himself; some things never changed.

"So…" Gobber leaned over Hiccup's shoulder to peer at the sketch, finding the mess of notes and lines to be totally unrecognizable. It could have been anything from a saddle to an improved bola cannon for how much the older blacksmith could make out from the sketch. "Whatcha makin' there?"

"It's a, uh…" Hiccup paused to jot down some last notes and then blow the loose charcoal particles off the paper, proceeding to finally turn to Gobber with clearer eyes, attention no longer diverted. "It's a mask. Or, a helmet, more like. See?" He proudly traced the outline of his sketch and grinned, eagerly awaiting his instructor's commentary.

"Ye goin' to a masquerade or somethin'? Ye can borrow my sister's dress while yer at it!" Gobber laughed heartily at his own joke while Hiccup rolled his eyes, too used to this routine to take offense.

_"Ha_ ha, very funny. You don't even have a sister. Besides, it's for riding Toothless. See, I'm hoping it'll fix two of my problems…" He held the design close to his face and scrunched his eyes up, surveying its minute details. "One, when I fly during the wintertime, I practically get frostbite on my tongue, it's so cold; what with all the wind and such. And two, when I fly during the summer, especially around forests, well, there's a lot of bugs… And I haven't yet encountered one that tastes good." He and Gobber grimaced in unison, and Hiccup continued, "So I'm hoping this mask will help me out."

"Yer makin' it today?"

"Yeah, a simple version; I'll add the bells and whistles later on. I want to test it out later tonight." Hiccup abandoned the finished sketch to get up and begin hobbling here and there, collecting materials for the mask, while Gobber went and began pumping the bellows to reheat the coals without being asked, Hiccup's sketch in hand and cheerfully examining it.

"It looks like ye need some leather, lad?" Gobber called, managing to comprehend the barely-legible list of materials scrawled on the side of the page.

"Uh, yeah. For the strap," Hiccup replied from across the forge, sorting through a pile of iron scraps. Finding some pieces that he deemed suitable for melting down into his helmet, he loped over and dropped them unceremoniously onto the worktable.

"Oh yeah? Here, lemme get some down." Gobber left the bellows and began hobbling towards the shelf where he kept the leather. Quite a few years ago, the blacksmith had taken to storing leather and any other valuable resources up on a high shelf where Hiccup couldn't reach, to keep the boy from pilfering it all out from under Gobber's nose to use in his inventions. The only way Hiccup had ever been able to get any leather over the last decade was to ask Gobber—and usually the blacksmith said no. But now that less leather needed to be used in making weapons, Gobber was more willing to let Hiccup utilize the precious hide they had in his inventions, especially if said invention was going to keep him from taking on bugs as his main food source.

"Oh no, I can get it," Hiccup replied, approaching the shelf himself. Gobber was about to scoff at him, because for years Hiccup always had it in his head that he could reach the leather and usually just ended up hurting himself, but the laughter abruptly caught in his throat when the boy reached up… and simply grabbed a strip of leather, right off the shelf. Sure, he had to strain a bit, stand on his one good tippy-toe, but he still reached the hide. By himself.

Gobber stopped in his tracks, aghast, but Hiccup didn't notice, strolling right by Gobber and thanking him for stoking the coals. The blacksmith didn't reply, eyes stuck to the boy's back. Sure he had noticed that maybe Hiccup was fleshing out a little bit, maybe getting an inch or two taller—he had seen plenty of kids go through puberty in his day, after all—but he hadn't thought that he had gotten _that _much bigger…

Gobber was dragged back to the present when something flicked him in the forehead. That something was Hiccup, who was standing before Gobber with crossed arms, regarding the older blacksmith with a mix of concern and exasperation. "Hey, earth to Gobber! I was asking you if you wanted to help me make the mask… What are you gawking at, anyway? You looked like you saw Odin's ghost or something."

The boy's instructor shook his head, a bit confusedly. "S-Sure, I'll help ye, lad." He paused, a bit reluctantly under Hiccup's continued concerned stare. "Uh, sorry to change the subject on ya, Hic, but… When did ye get so… big?"

Hiccup blinked once at the indeed sudden change of topic. "Huh? 'Big'?"

Gobber began to feel a bit awkward for bringing up the subject, shifting on his mismatched feet. "Well, the thing is… I know ye've been gettin' older and bigger recently, like lads yer age do…"

"Don't you _dare_ try to give me the talk again, Gobber."

"I know! I know!" Gobber allowed himself a shudder at the memory of how _that _discussion had gone, before taking a breath and trying to salvage what was left of his original point, "But I didn't know ye'd gotten so tall that ye could just grab the leather right off the shelf!"

Hiccup stared at him a moment more, before grinning, a bit of confusion in his eyes. "That was what got so you turned around? That I could reach the shelf?" Then he began to laugh incredulously. "Gobber! I've been able to reach that shelf since I was, what… seventeen? I mean, it's nothing new. In fact, I—"

"Wait! Hold up! Seventeen?" Gobber interrupted, head spinning a bit in disbelief. "Did ye say _seventeen?_ Ye're only _sixteen,_ aren't ya?"

"I'm _nineteen, _Gobber!_ Nineteen!"_ Hiccup rolled his eyes with an odd, cocky little smile playing on his lips. "Come on, Gobber, don't tell me you've gotten so senile in your old age that you didn't even notice who's the tallest around here anymore?" Then he grinned at Gobber, expectantly, and Gobber was about to retort that he had no idea what Hiccup was talking about when he noticed something _horrible._

Hiccup didn't grin _at_ Gobber…

Hiccup grinned _down_ at Gobber.

And at this, the blacksmith choked. "W—! W-_What?!_ No! It can't…"

Hiccup's grin grew ever larger. "Oh _yes_ it can, old man."

And thus, for the first time in quite a few years, Gobber the Belch was forced to look at Hiccup, like _really look,_ and was left with two distinct impressions: one, the fishbone that Hiccup had always been for his entire life had inexplicably vanished, and two, Gobber _really_ needed to be tuned into reality more often.

Hiccup had indeed gotten taller—quite a bit taller, actually, now standing a fair head above Gobber (though the blacksmith _swore_ the boy's head had only reached the bottom of Gobber's chin mere weeks ago). His hair had grown longer, darker, and messier, and the childish freckles that used to dominate his face had faded slightly. He had fleshed out too, and while his slightly lanky body mass still paled in comparison to most Vikings, especially his father, he no longer looked like he would snap in two pieces if hugged too enthusiastically. Even the way the lad carried himself had altered drastically, now speaking of quiet confidence rather than crippling insecurity; his eyes were brighter than they once were and his smiles, no longer bitter and forced curves of the lips but actual _smiles_, came easier. Gobber figured he may have just been uselessly waxing poetry, but it seemed to him that the misfit boy had finally found himself, and actually liked what he had found: quite simply, that boy, that Hiccup, had grown up, body and spirit, and it shocked and excited Gobber, who had stood by the boy's side his entire life, watching him grow and never really believing he'd become a man.

Rapidly becoming sentimental, the blacksmith came back to reality when Hiccup began to laugh at him. "All right, all right, I wanted you to acknowledge I'd gotten taller than you, not stare at me all day long. It's getting a little weird, Gobber."

"Aw, yeah, sorry lad…" Gobber then grinned, affectionately slinging a meaty arm around Hiccup's shoulders and squeezing him with fierce gusto, no longer worried he'd break his apprentice into two pieces. "But I still just can't _believe _it, Hic! Ye've become a man right before our very eyes!"

Said young man groaned good-naturedly under Gobber's arm. "Oh no, don't you get sappy on me, Gobber. I've got my dad for that, and that's even weirder than it sounds. Now, come on! I've still got my helmet to make, and I know I might be big and strong now and all that but that doesn't mean I'll turn down a little help from the old teacher. Wanna do a little work?"

"Ye got it." Gobber grinned and Hiccup grinned back for a long moment before enthusiastically hobbling back to the worktable where he'd put all of his materials, excitedly babbling about how awesome his helmet-mask was going to be when they finished it. Gobber lingered back for a moment, smiling inwardly at that glow in Hiccup's eyes and marveling at the man he'd become (and he was _not _getting teary-eyed, he _wasn't),_ before chuckling and joining Hiccup at the table to sort through the iron scraps.

"Well, yer right 'bout needin' help! I mean, sure ye got a lil' taller… a lot taller… but yer still the same ol' fishbone! I mean, ye'd better look out, I heard there's a windstorm tonight; we wouldn't want ye to blow away!"

"Okay, first, you've said that before, and second, that was uncalled for. Do you _see_ these muscles?"

"Oh, sure! Lemme go get my spyglass…"

"Not funny, Old Wrinkly."

"I am _not_ old!"

For the remainder of the day, Gobber and Hiccup worked away (well, maybe spending more time bickering than actually forging). From time to time Gobber would pause in his work and just watch Hiccup, pounding away at his mask on that anvil he was finally tall enough to use, and let the pride burn in his chest. He knew, in that deep part of him, if Hiccup kept growing like this, kept maturing like this… well, someday soon, there would be absolutely no one that would ever be able to defeat him.

And in Gobber's absolutely humble opinion, he wasn't aging too bad himself.

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***In the book How to Train Your Dragon, Hiccup calls his grandfather 'Old Wrinkly'. I found it funnier than I probably should have.**

**Guest: Glad you thought it was cute! :) Thanks for reviewing.**

**Mottleflower: :) I'm happy you liked it! I also really like Gobber and Stoick's friendship; I think it's kind of endearing. XD Glad you liked the fun fact, too! In all the research I do for this story, I find some pretty interesting stuff. XD Thanks for your review, as always!**

**Xyst: I know, right? I wish I could read spend all day reading fanfics, too. D: (And thanks for the compliment! :D). I like giddy Stoick, too! Writing movie-era Stoick can be such a downer. XD I'm happy you liked the interpretation, too! (I actually haven't seen the Defenders of Berk trailer yet, though I keep meaning to... Well, I'm glad I made an unintentional connection!) Thanks for reading and reviewing, as always. :)**


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